How The West Was Won
by alwayswritewithcoffee
Summary: "I now pronounce us husband and wife," Castle mutters at her ear, waggling both his eyebrows and his hand to display a matching wedding band. Just like that, she's Kate Rodgers, newly wedded and undercover in the Wild West. (7x07 before Castle and Beckett became Caskett. Season Two AU.)
1. Chapter 1

_Sometimes I see a prompt and just know I've got to write it. Today, three different people put in a request for 7x07 taking place before Castle and Beckett were a couple. This is my effort to fill that prompt. This work is set in late season two, between 'Den Of Thieves' and 'Food To Die For'. Thanks to my friend and url twin on Tumblr, alwayswiththecoffee, for the _gorgeous _cover art._

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><p>To some people, a stage coach ride through a barren desert into an Old West town would be exciting, maybe even romantic. Those people wouldn't be focused on the grit and dirt that hangs heavy in the air, how it lays a fine coating of dust on anything that is within reach. Already, Kate's lungs feel thick with it and she wonders if she is destined to spend the next couple of weeks hacking up hazy desert sand, the tiny granules scraping her throat and giving everything from her morning coffee to a burger from Remy's the taste of sawdust.<p>

If you chose this spot for a vacation, the prospect of cramped quarters, horse drawn wagons and cowboys was probably adrenaline inducing. If it had always been your dream to play The Lone Ranger with your own personal horse and sidekick, you'd probably look something like Castle as the coach lumbers over a deep rivet that sends her jostling into him.

He pays her no mind, hanging halfway out of the stagecoach window, laughing like the nine year old sugar rushed little boy she'd pegged him as so many months ago.

They've been working together over a year, but that aspect of Richard Castle definitely hasn't changed. He's still very much a kid at heart, and on most days she's learned to appreciate the easily amused nature that he brings to practically everything.

On most days she hasn't been ordered to some godforsaken patch of the Arizona desert by way of a red-eye from JFK to Phoenix at the long shot of uncovering the mystery of her latest case.

"Beckett, this is amazing!"

Castle's chattering kicks up the same moment that the coach comes to an abrupt halt, requiring that she grab onto the window edge to ensure her body doesn't topple over onto the cramped floor. By the time she's oriented herself, he's out the door, eyes wide and still laughing in delight because, to the surprise of no one, pretending to be a cowboy in the wild west is just one of many dreams to which Richard Castle has always aspired.

Kate absolutely doesn't let herself dwell on the fact that in his obvious excitement, he's still thoughtful enough to extend a hand so she can exit their ride somewhat gracefully.

The fact she exits straight into a not-so thoughtful gift from the backside of a horse isn't his fault, even if she does want to elbow him in the ribs for the quip about good luck.

Good luck probably just ruined her favorite shoes.

"Great….just great," she huffs, more to herself than Castle, least of all because her partner certainly isn't listening. Her personal golden retriever has moved on from his galant assistance to an animated conversation that Kate knows she should be listening too. Instead, she's still trying to use the edge of a wooden board to scrape the gunk from her shoe.

"That's us! Rick and….Kate," Castle calls her name a little louder than necessary, one of those broad arms snagging around her waist so she's really got no choice but to follow wherever it is that he's tugging her (and she will remember to make him pay for that decision later) or to fall on her butt in front of an entire town of people.

She chooses to follow, consciously relaxing the angry grimace to a smile that she hopes radiates polite reluctance, "Rick and Kate Rodgers, here and ready for all the adventure of the Wild Wild West," Castle rambles on, smile far too excited and grip far too tight to be a coincidence, "We're newlyweds!" he adds, voice growing even louder at the proclamation, clearly an effort to distract people from the horror that Kate can feel sliding into place. It's taking over every muscle, morphing her expression into something that their greeting part - the badge on his chest reads James Grady - picks up on, "Newlyweds on our honeymoon!"

"You gonna be sick, darlin?" he drawls, angling his body backwards two steps as if she might become sick right there.

Kate isn't sure he's very far off, she's definitely dealing with a little bit of nausea that has tempered the raging inferno of anger that she's going to unleash on Castle at the first opportunity.

"Something like that," she mutters, drawing up the sweetest smile she can manage and casually sliding her arm around Castle's waist.

She doesn't even feel guilty for pinching him when Grady begins extolling the virtues of the ranch, brandishing brochures that they have no choice but to take. In fact, she gives a genuine smile at his yelp of pain, ignoring the wounded look Castle gives her in favor of encouraging the owner to continue with the rules and regulations of their home.

"Since you are newlyweds and all, we'll give you an upgrade to one of the suites in our hotel here in town," Grady says it for the compliment that it is, and unintentionally throws one more sour note into a morning full of them when she's forced to request the bunkhouse that they need access to.

"….uh, sure. Let me just take that up with my missus," the man drawls again, eyes telegraphing disbelief that two people would forgo the comfort of the posh hotel for the bare bones bunkhouses and what Kate now knows is a single twin bed.

As Grady walks to the edge of the platform to intercept a blonde woman in an elaborate blue dress, she makes her move, elbow poking sharply into Castle's ribs until he howls in discomfort and squirms away from her, "What was that for?!" he exclaims, the confusion in his voice dying off just a bit at her glare.

"Married, Castle? _Married_!" she's nearly spitting the words, arms drawn tightly across her chest while he attempts to sputter some defense. "Of all the stories you pick newlyweds. I'm going to kill you."

"In cases of murder among deceased husbands, the wife usually is the first suspect," Castle responds, fear of her glare dimming in his eyes to be replaced by that infuriating teasing twinkle and lopsided smirk that drives her insane on a different number of levels that Kate will not allow herself to think about.

Not now, not ever.

"Castle, I swear to God….." she can hear how much lower her voice is, how the words are being growled out at him as the tether of her patience grows shorter. But he's already fishing something shiny and small from his pocket, pulling her arms apart with an urgency that she only understands when her ears pick up the sound of boot spurs banging across the wooden platform of the general store.

James Grady is coming back towards them, and Castle is sliding a solid gold band on her fourth finger, "I now pronounce us husband and wife," he mutters at her ear, waggling both his eyebrows and his hand to display a matching wedding band.

"Looks like you folks are in luck, the room you want is available and my wife is happy to put you in there. Now if you'll just follow me we'll see about getting you outfitted good and proper," Grady tells them, giving a sweeping gesture towards the double doors with an encouraging smile.

"Come on, Mrs. Rodgers. Let's go shopping!"


	2. Chapter 2

She tries her best to be a good sport about it all when they enter the store, even though she's still reeling from the shock of the past few minutes. The wedding band that's been unceremoniously placed on her finger feels foreign, like a lifetime sentence that's an odd combination of horrifying and exciting.

_What_.

When the last word skirts across her mind, Kate stops so suddenly that Castle momentarily stumbles, using a well placed table to regain his balance. Very carefully he retracts his arm from hers, eyes flashing a bit of concern that she just can't be bothered with right now.

It's not exciting to be saddled up with a wannabe cowboy in a pretend marriage. It's absolutely not.

The gold band on her finger feels just a little tighter to her overworked mind when Grady's wife, who has introduced herself as Daisy Mae, beckons for her to follow to the opposite side of the store. Already, Kate can see flowing yards of fabric and lace, white petticoats and bonnets, corsets that make her squirm at the idea of the restricted movement they would present.

Still, there's some small section of her brain that finds them appealing and she wonders what strapping one on might do for a figure built tall and slim like her own.

Pondering the merits of a corset have to wait when her blonde helper selects a lilac dress with navy trim from a hook on the wall, grin a bit too eager and excited for Kate to have to dash her dreams of floor length skirts and flowered hats.

"No, I'm sorry but I don't…" Kate pauses, scrunching up her nose to find the most delicate way to phrase her reluctance for a dress and neither offend the woman or blow her ulterior motive for being at the ranch, "That really isn't my style," is what she settles on, gritting her teeth for the untrue part of the story both at lying to a woman who seems very nice and that she even has to say the words at all, "And my husband really prefers something more form fitting."

To her credit, Daisy Mae isn't deterred. she still pulls a dress and all the undergarments and accessories, winking at her with the inclusion of two corsets - one black, one white - to the pile. And she doesn't say a word when she leads Kate to another section of the room, the options much more on target with what she'd choose for herself with lightweight shirts, cowboy boots, and a pair of leather chaps that she reaches for on instinct.

They remind her of her motorcycle gear, leave her itching to jump on her Harley and feel the wind pressing against her body as she roars down the highway, ends of her hair flicking over her shoulders where it peaks out from underneath her helmet.

The woman smiles at her once she's pointed towards a changing room, and Kate steadfastly ignores the dress that's still waiting. She's halfway through putting on her jeans, one leg in and one out when the chirpy voice of Grady's wife sounds just outside the partition of her room.

"So, Mrs. Rodgers, how did you and meet?" Daisy Mae is bright and cheery with her question, so much so that Kate feels bad for the string of words that threaten to curl out of her mouth. But it's not this woman's fault that her partner is an idiot, and she does her best to reign in her anger, stepping into the denim before she loses her balance and smacks her head against the paneled wall.

"Ummm…." she hedges, brain spinning quickly to craft a story that would work, "We met at a party." Rather harmless, and technically true.

"Oh, what sort of party?" The woman volleys another question at her while her hand is poised between the black shirt and blue shirt that are her choices. The blue is pretty, reminds her of the sky and seems to be calming.

Since Kate could use something to calm her down, she tugs on the blue one, "Work," she mutters in answer, fingers flying over the buttons. The sooner she's dressed, the quicker the questions might end, "Cas - Rick was hosting a party and I ended up going, meeting him there."

"That's just lovely," Daisy Mae drawls, "And now you are here and married. James told me you're newlyweds, I just can't believe you chose to spend your honeymoon with us! What was your wedding like?"

She's grateful that she can't be seen because the exasperated eye roll comes before she has a chance to tamp it down. It's the same sort of look Kate issues to Castle when he's being exceptionally ridiculous, usually rambling on about ninjas or the mob or alien abductions. Her body isn't used to having to hold back on her reaction.

But their wedding? She doesn't even want them to be married, and now some well intending person is asking for personal details that Kate's mind is struggling to create. She's not the writer, not the one who can craft a story off the smallest inspiration at the slightest prompting.

So she reverts to her gut, using instinct of what she'd want for an actual wedding.

Not that she thinks she'll ever get married. That train probably left the station when her mother was murdered or, maybe, when she signed up to become a cop.

"We….uh…." Her mind grinds to a halt for one terrifying moment where Kate is sure Daisy Mae will rip open the door and accuse them of lying. Really, no one could blame her because she's definitely doing a terrible job of selling the concept of newlyweds madly in love. But then it comes to her, the idea of her wedding in all its simple, elegant glory.

She absolutely does _not_ picture Castle as the prospective groom. For the most part, he's faceless and nameless. Except when Tom Demming pops in her head only to be replaced by a different set of blue eyes and carefully mussed brown hair.

_Damn it._

"Kate? You okay?" The knock is soft, the voice hesitant and concerned when it filters across the wooden barrier.

"I'm fine!" she replies quickly, pushing some enthusiasm into her voice, "Just lost in memories, you know how it is. It's so recent and still so exciting for me."

"How sweet," says her dressers voice, "You had some big ceremony didn't you? You seem that sort."

"No, not at all. Very small and intimate. Just family and a few friends," Kate answers, buckling the final strap on the leather chaps and quickly stepping into her shoes, "No big fuss. I suppose we could have done that, but it didn't seem right."

Daisy Mae murmurs some element of understanding as she exits the room, hat hanging from her fingertips. The woman's smile is enormous, full of joy that Kate struggles to reciprocate given how ridiculous she feels in this outfit and the emotional roller coaster that had been an innocent conversation.

"You look great," the blonde woman says, "Your husband will love it. Let's go show him!"

She follows on autopilot, trying to shake the vision of Richard Castle with his piercing blue eyes and bright smile directed at her from the end of an aisle that she's never going to walk in her life.

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><p>He's still preening a bit in the mirror, adjusting the vest one way, unbuttoning it completely before doing them up again while Grady talks to him about gun laws and how his own personal six shooter is available for purchase in the ranch gift shop.<p>

Naturally he'd be able to do that here, and Rick finds himself wondering just what he'd have to do to convince Beckett that she should bring it back to New York as part of her own personal arsenal.

The light catches the golden band on his left finger, a reminder that it's unlikely she'll be doing him any favors in the near future. Even less if she somehow learns that not only did he craft the story, he accidentally blurted it out to Montgomery before they left.

By now, the Captain has definitely told the boys.

He's in _so_ much trouble. Maybe the six shooter could serve as protection from his wildcat of a partner. Ward her off with a loaded holster at his hip.

The sound of boots dragging over the floorboards are what alert him that she's about to make an appearance, the hesitant cadence enough to inform Rick that Beckett most certainly isn't pleased in her change of wardrobe. She turns the corner with her hands fisted together, shoulders slumped in resignation that impossibly serves to make her look adorable.

And hot. Those leather chaps are definitely doing it for him as he gapes at her, eyes doing a long scan from the tip of her cowboy hat to the ends of her brown and ivory stitched boots.

"This is like three different fantasies come to life," he blurts, the words out in the air and into the ears of both Beckett and Grady before he's even managed to clap a hand over his mouth.

Just as he expects, that muscle in her jaw goes to work, flexing with pent up frustration as Kate grinds her teeth. Grady is too busy chuckling at him to notice the way her eyes flash at him, and by the time the man has gathered himself, she's back to smiling politely and thanking their escort for his help.

Rick is almost sorry when Grady doesn't protest Beckett's request for the room key, handing it over with little more than a reminder of meal times. And he has to swallow down a clench of fear when his partner turns to face him, her eyes glinting steel and a little bit of malice when she links arms with him, "Come on, husband," Kate drawls, just enough hard edge to her voice to leave him having to not actively cower, "Let's go get ourselves settled."

He's rather proud that he manages to wiggle his eyebrows at her, to paste that smirk that's so often been his first defense onto his face, "Sounds kinky, I'm in."

Beckett's growl of frustration as they exit the store is just a bonus.


	3. Chapter 3

"So what sort of kinky, depraved things do you have planned, Beckett?"

Kate's reasonably sure that she wouldn't shoot him, but there's an undeniable twitch of her fingers towards the holster that usually sits at her hip. True to form, Castle hasn't let up with his litany of comments on their walk from the general store to the bunkhouses.

The current suggestion of kinky things she'd like to do is the third such pass, and she grits her teeth when sight of their door looms large with the 14 stamped into its center. Even when she pulls out Whitney's key and belatedly realizes it doesn't match, her partner continues to prattle on at her shoulder with that irritating lilt that is a dead giveaway of just how much he's enjoying all of this.

"Castle," she finally snaps when he makes a quip about putting her handcuffs to better use, spinning on her heel quick enough that he's forced to take a step backwards, "Not if we were the last people on Earth," Kate huffs, stowing Whitney's key in the extra large pocket of her chaps and busying herself with wiggling the actual room key into the lock so that she doesn't have to stare at the dusting of stubble that's along his jaw or the twinkle in his blue eyes.

"You wouldn't chain me up in the face of flesh eating zombies?" he asks, one of those large hands pressed firmly into his chest, "Wow, Beckett, I'm touched….really and truly touched." He even adds the pretense of wiping away a tear and a dramatic sniff that tugs one of her patented eye rolls as the lock finally gives and the battered door slides open.

"Keep talking and I'll rethink the kind gesture," she tells him, flicking her eyes in the general direction of her partner. She doesn't want to smile because this whole situation is beyond absurd and its easier to just remain grumpy and miserable but its hard to resist when Castle is giving her that self satisfied smirk because she didn't shoot down his overly imaginative theory that the end of the world will arrive with hordes of walking dead.

The tug at her lips comes anyway and she doesn't fight it, the soft quirk leaving the barest impression as one foot steps over the threshold of the tiny little room.

Bare bones doesn't begin to cover it. The place is nothing more than a pipe stove, two cabinets and a bed that Kate isn't sure she can fit on, much less Castle.

"...wow," comes the rumble at her side, and a quick glance shows that his eyebrows are knotted together in confusion and, potentially, worry. "This is….quaint."

"That's one word for it," Kate sighs, tossing the room key onto the top of the cabinet, of which a quick peek inside reveals little more than towels, an extra pillow and pillowcase and a worn, scratchy blanket that seems to be made out of wool. The need to be thorough demands that she check all the nooks and crannies, which means going to the additional trouble of unfolding and examining all the items. She even checks the seams of the shelves, slides the furniture piece away from the wall only to come up empty.

The yelp of surprise comes when Kate opens the second cabinet, followed by the sharp slam of a door and the repeated stuttering noises of Castle. He's convincing enough that she abandons her search, fixing him with an annoyed glare when he gives her nothing but a wild gesture towards the door, "What, Castle? Is there a dead body in the closet?"

"I-uh-no," he replies finally, hand falling to wrap around the door handle, "But there is a naked cowboy in the bathroom." Sure enough, one quick tug of the door opens to reveal a young guy with nothing on but a ten gallon hat at a toothy grin.

She can't help staring, eyes drifting down on their own accord before Kate remembers what she's here to do and jerks them back to his face.

"Howdy, I'm Tobias. Pleased to meet you!"

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><p>Ten minutes and an outfit later, Tobias is situated at the cramped table in their room with a cup of coffee that turns out to taste surprisingly good. He can't be quite twenty-five yet, all bright eyed and eager to gossip about Whitney and whatever trouble she managed to get up to in her stay at the ranch.<p>

Knowing that she was involved with a married ranch hand is the sort of lead that they can latch on to, the kind of thing that make Kate perk up and give Castle an excited grin that he quickly matches, slurping an extra long drag of his coffee.

"You know, I have to tell you that you do make an adorable couple but honey you don't have to be so shy. He's a good looking man and you married him!" Tobias says, flashing Kate one of those big, easy smiles that makes her stomach clench with nerves.

All undercover operations have tests, but she's got a sinking feeling this is about to take on a life of its own.

"Yeah, Kate, I'm a good looking, _married_ man," Castle echoes, his smirk not the least bit quelled by the glare she gives despite the soft tut the man across the table sighs at her.

"You can't spend your honeymoon in a fight. Whatever it is, you really should just kiss him and make up," the cowboy continues, nodding his head at his own advice before turning up the white tin cup and drinking the remains of his coffee, eyes locked on the two of them as if he's just waiting for her to follow his advice and make up with her husband.

She's absolutely going to kill Castle. Or leave him in the middle of the desert. Or both.

"I'm telling you, it's better to just kiss and make up. You'll thank me later," Tobias grins at her again, fingers tapping with excitement across the worn wooden surface of the table. "I can tell you love him honey, no use it playing it down for me."

That statement makes Castle choke on his own coffee, swallowing roughly against the hot liquid even as he decisively places the cup back onto the table with a scratchy rumble of displeasure at the burning sensation. "I…..it's not that simple," she replies both in an effort to maintain some resemblance of the truth and to keep Castle from spouting some story that she might have to live up too.

"Maybe it should be," comes the reply of the cowboy across from her, eyes flickering between the two of them with a level of suspicion that she doesn't want to see when they are nowhere near finding enough evidence or clues to who killed Whitney. Having their operation be exposed because she failed to convince one well intended guest is the last thing they need. Tobias has given them something concrete to investigate but in doing so, he's proved himself as an unworthy confidant.

If he leaves the room convinced they are hiding something, the entire ranch will know before dinner.

"Cas-" Kate begins to call his name before her mind has entirely made itself up, aware that he's keeping his eyes locked on the table, the slightest blush of what might be embarrassment adding a light pink flush to his skin. The increase in her pulse rate, the slight quickening of her breath as she leans in strikes Kate with a certain measure of surprise as she glances at him, fingers squeezing lightly at the well defined muscle that lurks underneath his western shirt, "Rick," she tries again, grateful that she's remembered their name change in the midst of it all.

Most wives would never call their husband by his last name.

It takes a moment for Castle to lift his eyes, but once he does she's struck a little dumb by the darker blue color. The flash of eagerness and want comes quickly when she meets his gaze, but its still there, shooting a flood of heat and adrenaline into her veins that has Kate subconsciously licking her lips, eyes flickering from his to stare at the full pillow of his bottom lip and ever so briefly imagining what it might feel like when pressed against her own.

Oh, God, she's going to kiss Richard Castle. All because some noisy cowboy can't mind his own business.

"Yes, Kate?" he finally asks, voice pitched lower than she thinks she's ever heard it. That little glint is back in his eyes, the slightest upturn of his lips enough to tell her that he's vastly enjoying this predicament of theirs.

She makes a note to punish him for that.

And she starts immediately, darting forward to crash their mouths together with enough force that he grunts in surprise, mouth opening in a way that provides her the perfect opportunity to sweep her tongue against his lower lip and skirt against the hard line of his teeth. What she doesn't expect is the counter move of Castle's hand gripping the back of her head, fusing them together in a battle that's less about convincing some stranger of an unspoken apology and more about sparks of chemistry and still simmering anger.

But when his tongue slips into the cavern of her mouth, lightly teasing her with the way he's exploring her, Kate almost forgets that she kind of wants to kill him for bringing her here and making her play the role of the dutiful wife.

She also has to remind herself not to moan in response to the way his lips are devouring hers, how possessive and right it feels to have Castle holding her like this.

Instead, she lightly bites at his lip, hard enough to make him hiss when they break apart, her eyes flashing mischief even as he runs the tip of that pink tongue over what Kate knows is now a bump in the formerly perfect flesh.

"Alright then, I guess that settles that," Tobias says, flapping his hands at the two of them without some of the frantic, hyperactive energy he's usually displaying. In fact, the man seems a little stunned and awed by their over the top display as he gets to his feet. "I'm gonna go find some chow, see ya'll later."

The exit he makes is hasty enough that suddenly the absence of a third party makes the silence tense and weighted. Kate has to steel herself to even look at Castle, already able to feel the hot flush of heat that surely means she's some embarrassing shade of pink. And to make it worse, she can still taste the coffee they'd just had and a hint of the chocolate Castle had purchased on their exit from the airport.

The grunt of surprise is burned into her brain now, as is the way his mouth fit against her own, how his hands had clutched her like she was both something precious and with a rawness that makes her a little stunned with just how much she wants to do that again.

"Um….." the second the word falls out of her mouth, Castle is on his feet, hands grabbing for used cups and the empty coffee pot. "Should we talk about that?" Kate asks while he scurries towards the jack and jill bath, comically juggling the items in his hands in order to open the door and avoid looking at her.

"No," he blurts it out quickly, the word high and squeaky in a way that turns the skin of his neck a deeper shade of red while he clears his throat, "It was part of the story. It didn't mean anything, Beckett."

Their gazes only meet for an instant, but its long enough for her to see the regret that he's trying to bury under a layer of nonchalance. It's a look she's seen before in some variation, though usually it's accompanied by the presence or mention of Tom Demming.

Just another reminder of the obvious crush he carries, of how tempted she sometimes is to give into the obvious attraction and chemistry that they share. But uncertainty and fear are her friends, the things which ensure that Kate doesn't put herself forward for the option of heartbreak, and they again reign her in across an empty stretch of the bunkhouse room they are meant to share, words clogging in her throat until Castle gives her a strained smile and allows the door to the bath to slide closed.


End file.
